Letters to Hank

Chapter Sixteen

James Kroyer sat beside his father at the kitchen table, the eraser of his pencil clutched between his teeth. The fourth grade had been tough on him, especially concerning larger subtraction problems. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Eight, take away nine," he muttered, his voice high and squeaky. "I can't take nine from eight!"

Alfred smiled and gently tugged the pencil away from James. "You've got to borrow from the six to make it five. Now you carry the one and take nine from eighteen."

The boy's eyes lit up as numbers began falling into place. Once he held it again, his pencil began moving as he solved the problem.

"Hank?" his mother called, her brows furrowed. "Have you seen him, Alfred?"

Alfred shook his head. "I'm sure he's fine. He'll be home like he always is."

James stared up at his father, his throat tight. "Dad?" he whispered. "Who's Hank?"

The question he had always been afraid to ask just slipped off his tongue. The boy recoiled into his seat, his tiny hands shaking.

Alfred watched Hazel roam into the kitchen, her eyes void and wandering. He leaned in close to his son with a small smile. "You'll learn someday, my boy."

James, though a child, knew no further questions were to be asked. He nodded once and, without a word, began diligently working on his next subtraction problem.

***

James watched quietly as his dad made breakfast. Alfred flipped two pancakes, sliced strawberries, and poured three cups of orange juice. It was the same brand of beverage Hazel used to buy, though she always complained of it being bitter when Alfred bought it. James had never known why until one Sunday morning.

Alfred made sure Hazel wasn't in the kitchen. He glanced around the room and down the hall, then pulled a small bottle of pills from the cabinet above the refrigerator. "Hush, hush," he told James quietly. "Your mother isn't to know."

James nodded, afraid of what would happen if she ever found out.

Alfred smiled and dropped the pill into a glass of orange juice. He began stirring and didn't stop until it was completely dissolved.

The boy didn't ask any questions, but he couldn't help but wonder why his mother once again frantically searched for Hank.

***

The music was impossibly loud, yet James didn't mind. All that mattered was the girl in his arms, dressed in white. The ring was an unfamiliar weight on James's hand, though a weight he promised to never take for granted. He kissed his new wife slowly, tears slipping down his cheeks.

As he glanced up, he saw Hazel dancing in the corner of the room by herself, a grin on her face. She said something to someone though no one could hear.

Nor was anyone listening.

James's heart sank. He knew the illness that lurked in her mind, the pain she subconsciously felt on a daily basis. He knew her Hank was beside her though his body was deep in the grave. He nuzzled his nose into his bride's dark hair, wondering how he could continue keeping such a heavy secret from everyone but her.

***

"Isn't she beautiful, Hank?" Hazel asked, leaning over her new granddaughter.

James's heart sank. Annie was a beautiful little girl, but a child Hank couldn't see. The new father protectively placed a hand on his daughter's head in a vain attempt to keep her sheltered from the hallucinations of his mother. Ever so gently, he lifted Anne to his chest and cradled her close.